This Finger

Can you take me back to where I belong? Can you take me back?
Can you take me back to where I came from? Brother, can you take me back?
Can you take me back?

I turned on my computer, waited for the exhilarating Windows welcome sound clip to ring in my ears, and clicked on Internet Explorer. As I clicked the left-mouse button, I felt like my index finger had turned into a slimey, slithering, gooey mini-gremlin. It snatched itself out of my hand and right before my eyes, while the stump on my hand started bleeding profusely and spraying the red gunk on the monitor, it started moving. The gremlin crawled on the wonderfully varnished cedar desk until it reached what must’ve felt like a cliff. Without respite, the hairy worm popped off like a cork from a champagne bottle. So mighty was the jump, that if I had told an Olympic diver about it, they would have gaped their eyes at me.

I don’t know any Olympic divers, and I always thought that winning gold for jumping off a bouncy platform was just a bit too much. If I were to be a diver, I would have preferred to be one of them who jump off real cliffs. I would float in fresh air having leaped from a real rock and wondered if this jump would be my last. But I could never be a diver. I am afraid of heights.

The little hairy mongrel landed on the floor on its head (formerly known as its nail) and toppled over to its hairy side, before rotating itself to the meaty side. Where was it going? I did not have a clue. My apartment is so small that even the little hairy bugger, now feeling what it’s like to be free for the first time, would feel claustrophobic. Then without a moment of hesitation, it proceeded to crawl. I watched what used to be my right hand’s phalanges bop up and down as it manoeuvred across the carpet. For a moment, mid-way through a complete step, it made a triangular shape not dissimilar to a pyramid, before pushing away with the severed fleshy part and moving forward. What a sight.

The trail of blood extended from the mouse pad, to the edge of the desk, to a splatter on the carpet as it culminated in a thicker consistency closer to where my severed finger slowly crawled. The little bugger kept crawling. I lost sight of it as it moved out of my room into the lounge room.